


Meeting by Moonlight

by peacehopeandrats



Series: Another Atlantis [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/pseuds/peacehopeandrats
Summary: Quick SummaryIn a universe alternate to the one we know, Teyla has convinced the crew of Atlantis to allow Michael to remain in the city after the Wraith invasion. There are a lot of things to work out, including how much trust can be passed around.TimingAn alternate timeline that overlaps the episode Misbegotten.





	1. Chapter 1

The city was absolutely breathtaking at night. The lights reflected off the water's surface and danced among the ripples like stars in the sky; space that was not space, but was something in between and was trying its hardest to blend in where it didn't belong. He sighed and wished he could feel the breeze on his face, but the guards had forbidden him from opening the window, letting him know by their actions that even though he was in a room and not one of their holding cells, he was still unworthy of their trust. A prisoner who was not a prisoner in confinement that was not a a prison. Michael closed his eyes and swallowed his despair, choosing to accept this new loneliness as his fate. What more could there be for a Wraith without the Wraith?

Behind him the door opened, but he ignored the visitor, though he could sense who it was. Let them believe he was relaxed and comfortable. It would not do to show his desperation until he could gain the upper hand.

“Michael?”

That voice, the commanding presence in it blending with a soft compassion to absolute perfection. The combination pulled at him in a way that it shouldn't; a Wraith drawn to his Queen. He turned with deliberate slowness, head tilted to the side in an instinctive stance of compliance, and waited for her to speak, certain that she had come to banish him, as the other had done on the Hive ship. If she commanded it, he would go without a struggle. He could feel that truth in his very core.

Teyla did not speak, only pulled herself straighter with a single intake of air, an unspoken demand for him to respond. Was she aware of what she was telling him in stance alone? How much of the gene could she feel in herself, he wondered, or was it simply an instinct activated by their proximity, as it was for him to comply?

“Even though I saved Colonel Sheppard's life and helped him stop the Hives from reaching Earth, you /still/ place me under guard.”

Her eyes hardened against him. “You have betrayed our trust in the past.”

Yes, he had betrayed her, the kindest of any of the humans. It had been necessary to gain his freedom, but it did not mean he had /wanted/ to betray them. Especially not Teyla. Of course, he had been the one turning the tables by then, escaping from the lies they had tried to force on him.

“Trust? I was your prisoner then!” Michael fought the anger he knew was escaping with his words, calming it even as the weight of the truth hit Teyla, forcing her to exhale deeply. He moved from the window to the wall opposite, actions as careful as he now schooled his tone to be, the motion guiding his control of it. “And despite what I have done for you,” he said, “here I am once again.” His eyes took in the room as his mind pondered his fate. Finally he turned to face her, allowing a touch of vulnerability to creep from him as his head dropped to the side with sharp finality. “I can't say I'm surprised.”

Teyla stood silently for one heartbeat, then another, motionless until it was clear he was not saying more. Again he watched the Wraith in her reach for the Wraith in him, her head turning to align her eyes with his own as her body remained otherwise motionless. She expected more.

He complied without hesitation, his next words pouring from him in a human reaction of emotional confession still foreign to him. “I wasn't welcome among my own kind, why should I be welcome here?” With the utterance of the words, his heart sank and his gaze fell with it, landing on anything his attention could catch hold of; emptiness, barren shelves void of any evidence of a life they /could/ proudly display portions of if given the chance.

“What are you talking about?” Teyla's tone took on a Wraith's note of boredom and he submitted again, confessing to her the life of a Wraith that no other could possibly understand, laying his trust in her before her feet, ready to be trampled if she chose. He was certain she would understand, as certain as he was of their genetic similarities, hidden though they were.

“She looked at me as if I were some unclean thing. I may appear as a Wraith again on the outside, but as far as they're concerned, I'm...” His new identity flashed through his mind, calling to him through the past of only a few short days ago. /The Filth./ Not even a “one” could be added to what he was now. He was nothing, a lack of substance as obvious as the empty shelves. He breathed in the truth, but would not show it to her. “That is why I need your help,” he concluded, the genuine request spoken calmly and with care.

Teyla gave a single, deliberate nod. She would hear his request, but she might not tolerate it. “What do you want?”

“I can't stay here, and I can't return to the Wraith, which means I need to make my own way.” The contaminated part of him pulled forward from somewhere inside to negotiate in a human way, genuinely hoping for kindness, even as his other half rolled his head in a Wraithlike gesture of determination. “And to do that-” In his desperation, Michael suddenly dropped his guard, taking a step forward to emphasize his plea, but the movement only proved her distrust of him. As he crossed the floor, so did she, in the opposite direction, and all hope escaped him with his sigh of defeat.“I need supplies,” he finished sadly, “and a ship.”

“We are grateful for your help,” Teyla said calmly, but with a sharpness that implied a growing frustration and anger. She must have known this was coming, anticipated his request from the very beginning. She possessed an intelligence the others ignored and he instantly regretted not playing to it sooner. “But we can never release you – not with the information you possess.”

Immediately, he shouted out a demand for what was his only hope. “Then kill me now!” 

“There is another way,” Teyla said gently, her tone still authoritative, though her eyes had lost their sharp edge and had become calm pools of determination. 

Watching her, Michael realized that she was being /made/ to convince him. He wilted. If she were presenting her own ideas, there was a hope for compassion if he could convince her that he had never held intentions to harm her, but with the others there was no need to guess what his options would be. He already knew. Humans were all the same, afraid of the unknown though they sought it out at every turn. “Take the treatment again...”

“Yes.” The response might as well have been a fatal blow, though it came with the softest expression of their encounter thus far.

“What I am,” Michael insisted, “is not a disease you can cure.”

“Your life as a human could be long and full.” Teyla said the words as if she believed them, reciting them with a harsh finality. 

“And if I remember nothing of who or what I am... If this consciousness is erased...” Michael looked up, as if the Wraith side of him was already lost and floating around in the air, able to be caught and contained for a future reunification. “What is the difference between that and death?” She had no answer for him, so he continued with his questioning, keeping his tone low, his words weighing heavily with the honesty of the situation that the humans would not allow even themselves to see. “And if I do remember, and revert back to my true nature, what will happen then?” He knew the answer and he knew she would evade it.

“Doctor Becket has made significant advances,” Teyla insisted, doing exactly as he had expected, though her words were clipped and pushed out rapidly as if she were trying to convince herself of their truth. “The treatments are more effective now and eventually he may find a permanent solution.” 

Michael brought his voice down to a whisper as he stepped forward, tentatively at first, but then with more certainty as he saw that she no longer moved away. The guards raised their weapons, but he ignored them, his eyes joined with Teyla's, but not to control, only to expose the feelings he held within. “If you really believe that, those Wraith you transformed wouldn't be in stasis on the ship,” he told her gently as he approached. “They'd be here, reveling in your hospitality.” After a breath his gaze left hers and turned to the window, the gesture and the sarcasm that dripped from his words meant to be his final statement on the matter; he was a captive and would always be.

True to who she was, Teyla remained in place, watching him, a hard swallow the only signal of her discomfort at his proximity. She had listened, but offered no response and all of the air within him released itself as the last string of hope snapped in two just beyond his grasp. 

Defeated, Michael turned fully to the window, ready to stride to its slits and find whatever calm he could for his haunted mind, but without warning, Teyla's hand shot out at him, catching his arm and holding him in place. “I cannot speak for the prisoners,” she said quietly, “but perhaps your situation may be changed...” Her gaze lingered on his face before she gave his arm a squeeze. 

Michael glanced down, studying the point of unfamiliar contact, then looked up again, causing her to awkwardly release him even as she smiled. 

“Remain here,” she instructed with all of the kindness of the Teyla he remembered from his first days on Atlantis. “Let me see what I can do.”

Michael nodded once. He forced himself to remain where he stood until she left, then wandered back to the window, by way of her exit, so that he could watch her disappear down the corridor. Once she was out of sight, he turned to the water, eyeing it with a new sense of hope. The light no longer felt like an intrusion into a dark void. He watched as it floated on the water, caressing the surface with a gentle touch; patches of light that were not light, but points of hope reaching for each other and pushing away the dark gaps of uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we transition into a universe where Michael will become one of the crew. No idea yet where this will go or how far I will take it, but I have always wanted to fix the mistake they made by chucking Michael to the curb.


	2. Chapter 2

“John!” Teyla increased her pace to catch up with the man ahead of her, who was striding away with purpose. Her conversation with Michael was still swimming around in her mind, pushing into corners and pressing against a history that she was not yet certain she could continue to justify.

Sheppard turned, his face a combination of pleasantry and determination. “How'd it go?” He slowed so that she could catch up to him and then matched her pace even as he lead the way to whatever his destination would be.

“As we expected,” she told him as she fell in at his side.

“So is he going to take the treatments or are we going to tie him down to get it done?” 

Teyla frowned. “I do not believe that we should continue on the path we have chosen,” she said calmly as her mind wove a basket of uncertainty between scraps of her conversation with Michael minutes ago and the torment the humans had put him through in the past. “There is a chance that we can trust what he is telling us.”

“Sure,” the colonel agreed with false cheer. “Just like we did the last time and he used you to escape.” 

The sensation of waking unbound rushed unbidden to her mind. The emotions suddenly as sharp now as they had been at the time. She remembered opening her eyes, her heart jumping in her chest when she realized she was free, only to see Michael standing nearby, awaiting the reunion with his people. She was certain that he had intended to let her to go once his rejoining with the Wraith had been completed. 

“I can not deny that he took me against my will,” she said, taking a sharper breath than necessary as another memory came to her; Michael's hand reaching out as if to feed, then hesitating, denying himself for a reason that only he could know. He confessed once that he would have fed, but out of instinct alone. Something she saw in him today told her she had been wrong to doubt those words as the truth. “What he did was nothing more or less than what any of us would have done in the same situation.”

John stopped walking suddenly, causing her to nearly stumble into him. He turned to face her, frowning with concern. “He didn't get to you again, did he? This ‘friendship’ vibe that he puts off around you is… a little creepy.”

“I believe the friendship was genuine and remains so,” she said honestly, swallowing down the hurt she felt with herself for having been forced to play both sides then, as she was now. “You were the ones who insisted that I remain close to him in the beginning, to gain his trust, examine his humanity, and relay my findings back to you each day. And now that he has returned, you have expected me to play the opposite roll, placing ultimatums in front of him and telling him he has no choice but to comply with something that should never have been done in the first place.”

John blinked at her, his face drawn into a scowl. “I suppose it was some other Teyla Emmagen on the team that captured him, then. Which is funny because I was there and she looked an awful lot like you.”

Sucking in air to keep herself from lashing out, Teyla stretched her spine, stiffening at the accusation. “We have had this discussion before.” In fact, it had only been days before when she reminded him that she had been against the retrovirus all along. “I told you then that I only went along with your plan because I put my trust in you to make the right choices. I am asking you to do that now. What we have done to Michael is no different than what the Wraith would do to us. He has been captured, confined against his will, and forced to give us something of his life that we do not have the right to ask for. I am finding it hard to continue to blame him for doing everything within his power to escape.”

“You’re leaving out the part where we planned to eat him alive.”

Teyla sighed, but tried one last argument that might appeal to his military training. “Michael is asking for a chance to prove himself to us. What I am asking on his behalf is that we consider the advantages of having his knowledge and abilities available to us. If he were to take the treatments, we would lose that advantage along with his Wraith consciousness.”

John sighed, but gave in after a moment. “We’ll think about it.”

Suppressing a smile, Teyla gave a respectful nod of her head. “That is all that I am asking. Thank you.”

Sheppard made a face that was part smile, part doubt, then headed on his way, leaving her behind. Teyla watched him go, then let out a breath that she had not realized she had been holding. It had not been a promise, but it was a start.

* *

Sheppard listened to Rodney's babbling with half interest, which wasn't anything new, really. He could care less for all of the scientific engineering mumbo jumbo that explained why things didn't work. It wasn't his job to know why things were busted, it was his job to tell the guys who _fixed_ what was busted to get their butts in gear and make the things with blinky lights blink again. By now, though, he had learned to keep half an ear on what McKay was saying, because eventually he would hit on something useful. Thinking that moment was coming, John tuned in with his full attention.

“...respond to Wraith neural interface, in much the same way that the Puddle Jumpers can only be controlled by people with the ATA genes.”

“So we still need a Wraith to fly it.” _Michael._ Even in his own mind, John nearly spat the name out. Damn it, this was _exactly_ what Teyla had asked about back in Atlantis. It was almost like she _knew_ this was going to happen. Or Michael did. 

“I'm working on a manual override,” Rodney insisted, though he sounded suspiciously uncertain. He moved from one console to the next, hiding his inability behind checking his work “Just haven't had much luck yet.”

How the hell were they going to get rid of Michael if they needed a Wraith to fly the ship? The idea boiled inside of him until a solution popped into the front of his mind. “What about Teyla?” John snapped his fingers at the sudden revelation. “Teyla's got the Wraith gene thing. Maybe _she _can fly it.” He hoped she could fly it. He _really_ didn't want Michael strutting around, all high and mighty because he had proven himself useful.__

__“It's worth a try, but that's not the only problem...”_ _

__Rodney began his technological babbling again, as John ran over scenarios in his head. They could ask Teyla, but she would insist on playing nice and letting Michael have a turn, and if Michael had control of the ship, who knew where he would take them._ _

__“...if we're gonna fly this thing and hope for weapons,” Rodney continued, “we need to cut back on our current power consumption.”_ _

___What the hell did I miss?_ John blinked, confused. “Meaning?”_ _

__Rodney sighed, probably aware that he hadn't had a fully attentive audience. “Meaning the two hundred prisoners we've got in stasis... we can't keep them there forever.”_ _

__Sheppard stood silent for a moment, thinking. They were going to have to get rid of the Wraith, but what about Michael? Should he count as one of them? He really didn't want to be making this decision alone and wished that Weir were here to throw in her couple of pennies. “All right,” he said at last. “You stay here and keep working, I'm heading back to Atlantis for a powwow with some people. I'll let you know what we decide.”_ _

__“Great,” Rodney said flatly. “Just make sure you decide soon, or the ship won't be going anywhere.”_ _

__“Yeah, I got it,” John insisted as he walked off, not exactly rushing, but moving at a decent pace. He couldn't help thinking about the mess they had gotten themselves into, all because of one... well, whatever Michael was._ _


	3. Chapter 3

With Weir on Earth and Rodney still busy on the Wraith ship, the meeting room was far less crowded than it normally would have been, yet Carson felt a weight pressing in on him from all sides as they discussed the plans for Michael and the other prisoners. Ronon, on edge since the announcement of Michael's trial residency, was alternating between pacing and leaning on the table, arms folded against his chest, eyes sharp as daggers. His presence felt equal to about eight men. Twice he had tried to storm out, but both times he had been convinced to stay, first by Teyla's kindness and finally by Sheppard's strict command. Now he sat brooding in the corner, barking out suggestions only when everyone else's ideas hadn't been good enough for him.

“Just kill them.”

Sheppard sighed and almost rolled his eyes at the Satedan. “As much as I'd like to, we can't just wake them all up and stand them in front of a firing squad.”

“So don't wake them up,” Ronon barked gruffly.

Carson chose to ignore the suggestion and continue with describing his own. If any good were going to come of this, it wouldn't be the deaths of the now Human captives. “With so many in custody, we have the opportunity to study the effects of the retrovirus on a much grander scale. All we need to do is wake them up and continue with the treatments.” Carson shrugged as he spoke, thinking the idea sounded perfectly reasonable. “As long as we maintain a strict schedule, I don't see that we would have any problems.”

Sheppard shook his head. “That's all fine, but what if they start remembering things the way Michael did? We can't keep a couple hundred of them under guard all the time.”

“Take them to a planet,” Ronon said simply, unfolding his arms to gesture at the air in a way that emphasized his confusion over why the others were taking so long to come to a decision. His hands clapped down sharply on his legs as he stood and crossed the room again. “Take them somewhere without a gate and leave them. Soon enough they'll start feeding on each other and your problem will be solved.”

“It's _our_ problem,” Sheppard told him. Ronon opened his mouth to protest, but John spoke first to cut him off. “Besides, we need to get the ship moving for that.” He released Ronon from his stare and looked over to Teyla, eyebrows raised in query. “Think you'd be up to it?”

Teyla took in a long breath, pulling her shoulders up high with determination. “I might,” she said, “but there _is_ someone who is more capable than I.”

Carson watched John bristle at the idea. “No.” He shook his head once, a look of pure distrust on his face. “There's no telling _what_ Michael will do if we give him control of that ship.”

“He wants to prove himself,” she insisted, almost pleading, but not quite reaching the level where her words crossed that line. “What better way to give him an opportunity to show us where his loyalties lie?”

“That's the point.” Ronon insisted. “It's _exactly_ what he wants.”

Teyla scowled at him. “He said he wanted _a_ ship. He did not specify that it must be one of Wraith design.”

Ronon shook his head sharply. “That's not what I meant. How do we know this wasn't his plan all along? Come back to Atlantis and send a signal back to the others?”

Carson looked around the room, trying to judge the reactions on the faces around him and work out what everyone was thinking. The gathering had suddenly transitioned from a meeting full of opinions to one containing only silence and it left an awkward feeling at the center of his spine, causing him to shiver inwardly. Unable to take the quiet, he threw out the first thing that came to mind; “So we do everything.”

Sheppard blinked. “Everything?”

“We find a planet to leave the other Wraith on, then bring Michael with us to provide assistance,” Carson explained. “Teyla can fly the ship and we only have to keep one man under guard instead of two hundred.”

“And what do we do with the prisoners once they are awake?” Teyla turned to face him, her eyes honestly curious, though their depths showed a twinge of distrust. Since Michael's original capture she had fluctuated between complying with Carson's experiments and protesting against the treatment of his patient. It was a moral issue that he wished none of them had to deal with, but one that would not go away. 

“We could leave them to their own devices, as Ronon suggested, but it would certainly be best if we could continue work on the retrovirus,” Carson told her, then looked to Sheppard, pleading his case for more time to study. “If I teach them to administer the treatments themselves, we can leave whenever we're ready and return to conduct more tests at another time.” 

Teyla's brows furrowed. “Would it be wise to leave them? What if they revert back to what they had been before their exposure to the gas? They would have plenty of time to plan an attack on us for our return.”

Carson thought through a few options. “Well...” He sighed and wished that he had been given more time to research the affect of the gas on the others, or to study Michael to see what a reversion to his natural state made him capable of. According to what Teyla had said, Michael was cast out because of his differences, but what exactly _were_ those differences? Yes, the hair was shorter, but Carson very much doubted that was the only change in the man and it certainly wasn't one worthy of exile. “So long as they have no knowledge of Atlantis and no way to leave the planet, I don't see the harm in leaving them.”

“So we set up a camp,” Sheppard nodded, slapping his hands on the table as if to display his acceptance of the plan that had been devised. “Hang out for a while, do what needs to be done... Then leave them to do... whatever it is Humanized Wraith do.” He looked at Ronon. “Go with Becket and escort our 'friend' back onto the ship.”

Carson blinked. “Me?”

Sheppard nodded. “If Michael doesn't come willingly, we'll administer an injection and stick him with the others.”

* *

Ronon strode forward, gun in hand. For now, he aimed it safely at the floor, but the minute he saw that Wraith's ugly face, he was going to aim right between his eyes.

Behind him, Becket was trotting quickly to catch up. “John said-”

“I know what he said,” Ronon spat as he spun on his heel, causing the doctor to stop short. He held up the weapon for inspection. “You want to check the setting?”

Carson sighed. “All I'm saying is that we aren't giving him a choice if we put a gun to his head.”

Ronon blinked, pulling his head back in surprise. He could not understand why everyone was so quick to believe in this Wraith. All he had done time and time again was prove that he not only had the intelligence to pull off his traitorous acts, but that he had the patience to wait for exactly the right moment to do it. “Why should he get a choice at all?”

“Because he has the right-”

“No,” Ronon boomed, stepping closer to Becket to stare him down. “He should have lost that right the _first_ time he tried to betray us.”

“We don't know what happened on the Hive ship,” Becket protested. “Michael claims-”

Ronon could feel his blood boiling. “He also _claimed_ to be Teyla's 'friend'.” He spat the word out as if it were something vile, feeling like it was a poison in his mouth.

“So that's what this is about then, Teyla?” Carson blinked up at him innocently. Ronon felt sorry for him sometimes, always caught in the loop of wanting to do the right thing for everyone. It had to be a hard position to hold. “I'm sure I don't need to tell you that she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions when it comes to her interactions with Michael.”

“You don't get it, do you?” Ronon rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to make his point to any of these humans. “I hate _all_ the Wraith, but Michael? He's manipulative and he's smart. He knows Teyla has the Wraith gene and he keeps himself too close to her for my taste.” He held back a snarl as the image of Michael and Teyla sparring flew at him from the past, that deadly palm pressed to Teyla's exposed flesh. “He could use that Wraith mind control thing to turn Teyla against any one of us if he wanted to and there wouldn't be a thing she could to do stop it.”

Carson's mouth opened to protest, but no words came. Ronon didn't wait for any either, simply spun on his heel and continued his march down the corridor, to the door of Michael's temporary quarters. He nodded at the guards, who opened the door, then raised his gun, charging it as he barged in.

“Are you my executioner?” The Wraith stood, daring him to pull the trigger. There was another thing to add to the list of deadly qualities; he wasn't afraid of anything. In Ronon's experience a man without fear was as dangerous as they came.

“I wish,” Ronon growled at him. _Make one move,_ he begged inwardly. _Give me a reason to pull this trigger._

Behind him, Becket came in, hands out in a show of peace. Michael's eyes drifted from the gun to the syringe the doctor held. “I see.”

“You're being given a choice,” Carson explained, holding up the needle as if in offering. “If you don't come with us willingly, I've been told to give you the injection by force.”

Michael took in a long breath. Ronon could almost see the thoughts churning in the Wraith's mind as he stood straighter and lifted his chin in defiance. “Am I to be informed of my destination?”

Carson took a heartbeat to think about an answer to the question, then answered honestly. “We need you on the Hive ship.”

“Of course,” Michael rasped as he took a step forward.

Ronon immediately adjusted his hold on his gun, daring the Wraith to take another step with a steel dagger gaze.

“Ronon,” the doctor fussed beside him, “The man can't come with us if you won't let him through the door.”

“He's not a man,” Ronon grumbled under his breath.

“No,” Michael almost hissed as he took another step toward them, eyes staring down the barrel of the weapon without even blinking. “And thanks to you and your experiments, I'm no longer a Wraith.”

Ronon's eyebrows raised at the notion. “Then show me your hand.”

Michael gave a smile, the corners of his mouth curling around his pointed teeth in a wicked grin that sent chills through Ronon. His hand raised slowly, displaying the feeding slit for everyone in the room to see. “This,” he said slowly. “Does not make me a Wraith any more than you having a mouth makes you a...” He paused as if trying to come up with a word. “Dog, is it?”

With a growl, Ronon lunged forward, ready to pull the trigger, but Becket's hand flew up to grab his and pull it down before he could fire a shot. Michael chuckled softly as he watched, obviously enjoying the trouble he had caused.

“That's enough. Both of you.” Carson sighed and tugged on his clothing in a way that seemed equal to a stomping of his foot. “Now, Colonel Sheppard wants us on the Hive ship immediately, so if you don't mind...” He stepped aside, quickly putting himself between Ronon and Michael, and gestured at the doorway.

Michael hesitated, then nodded and began to lead the way.


	4. Chapter 4

The moment Michael set foot in the control room, his body went rigid with anger. “No!” He both shouted and hissed the word at the same time as he pushed past the startled men that cluttered the area to try and reach the main console, where Teyla stood. Behind him, every weapon was raised and readied, the sounds of their various clicks and a single energy charge were the only thing that kept him from reaching out to pull the woman away.

“Well that's a hell of a 'thank you,'” grumbled the colonel, as he turned a scowl Michael's way.

Michael's lips curled in a sneer as he glared back, and took a step closer to the man, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “She must not be put at the controls of this ship. Even as strong as she is, the amount of energy required is more than she can provide.”

Teyla's voice drifted over from where she stood. “While I am grateful for your concern, Michael, I assure you, I am capable.”

“My apologies,” Michael tilted his head at her as he inwardly scolded himself for making such a scene. Lifting his head to Sheppard, he continued. “I assumed you asked me here to fly the ship.”

Sheppard gestured at the room and the weapons that had been raised were slowly lowered, albeit reluctantly. “Yeah, we aren't really ready to jump into bed yet.”

The words settled in Michael's mind like a fog and he stirred them around to try and make sense of them. In the end he gave up. It was almost certain that the expression was one of distrust and Michael couldn't blame any of them for feeling that way. For a moment he thought about arguing his case, but he decided against it. “Then why bring me here?”

“In case something goes wrong,” the colonel said as if the idea should have been obvious from the start.

Michael sighed. “At least allow me to assist-”

“Nope,” barked Sheppard. “No assisting. You stand here and if we need you to do something, we'll let you know.” He turned to Teyla. “You ready?”

Teyla's eyes darted to meet Michael's briefly as she nodded. “I believe so.”

Michael seethed and tried to step closer, but the shifting of weapons stopped him. His lips curled and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was certain this was a test, but what kind of test was worth putting one of their own at such risk? Scenario after scenario spilled over in his mind, but nothing could be put together to make any sense. Perhaps it was meant to be torture.

After giving him a smile of reassurance, Teyla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Moments later, the ship began to move.

* *

Rodney paced nervously between consoles, checking and rechecking the systems as the ship made its way to wherever the others had decided to put their prisoners. He had one team working on weapons and another trying to tweak the power systems. He was, as usual, doing his best to divide his time between the two, but Michael's presence, looming in the background like a statue, was distracting. The Wraith had insisted on remaining in the command area, keeping himself as close to Teyla as his guards would allow. He claimed it was in the event of her needing assistance, but Rodney wasn't so sure.

“How we doing?” Sheppard's question made Rodney jump out of his skin, almost dropping the data tablet he cradled in his arms.

“ _We_ would be doing a lot better without people creeping up on us,” Rodney fired back, though he was glad to be distracted from the memories of the Wraith cocoon that came to mind whenever Michael so much as batted an eyelid.

To his credit, John actually appeared apologetic. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a quirky smile.

Rodney sighed and flicked a glance Michael's way again before returning to his work. “No real progress,” he reported glumly. “Our 'friend' did offer to help, but there isn't much he can do with the amount of damage to most of the ship. We've already cannibalized what we could.”

“Right.” Sheppard looked over to Michael, his expression telling Rodney that he was about to tune out.

Following the colonel's gaze, Rodney asked the question that everyone had been afraid to bring up so far. “When do you think he's going to... you know... get hungry?”

John shook his head. “I don't have a clue. And I doubt he's going to tell us.”

Rodney swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. “Any ideas on … well...”

“What he's going to eat?” John turned his back to the rest of the crew and lowered his tone to a mumbled whisper. “I've talked to Becket about it. He ate real food when he was a human, but we don't know if he can do that now. Carson says there's a chance he might be able to digest something instead of needing to suck the life out of one of us, but he doesn't know until he runs a few tests. And something tells me Michael isn't going to be a fan of more tests.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Rodney grumbled, looking over his shoulder at the broody Wraith. “What about the prisoners? Should we keep some of them for him to... well, eat, I guess?”

Sheppard looked thoughtful. “I don't know. He didn't look too happy when the Queen made a feast out of that Wraith we tested the retrovirus on, but it's worth a shot.” With a smile, he clapped Rodney on the back and walked off.

* * 

It took everything inside of him for Michael to hold his position while the others mumbled and whispered around him. He knew that most of the conversations revolved around his being there, but the concerns of the humans were hardly his own. His focus had remained on the console in front of Teyla and her steady breathing. If she were to be drained by the ship, a change in those two things would be the first indication of trouble. He had survived much since his capture by the humans. He refused to let their stubbornness keep him from whatever life he could arrange for the future.

“Hey, Mike.”

Michael held in the hiss that he felt rise in him at the sound of that name. How many different ways could this Annoying One change the name that had been thrust upon him? He turned his head just enough that both the colonel and Teyla were in his field of vision, and waited for whatever the man had to say.

“Can I talk to you?” Sheppard gestured to the corridor outside of the room and Michael bristled. “Don't worry,” the man reassured him, “it will only take a minute.”

Reluctantly, Michael turned to follow him. Once far enough from the others, Sheppard waved away the guards, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Have we reached the time when you confine me to quarters?” Michael's question seemed to confuse the colonel, who blinked a few times, staring at him blankly. The man must certainly be a worthy soldier, because Michael had yet to find any other quality that would have allowed him to have such a position of power. “Having a Wraith among the Transformed will surely confuse whatever lie you intend to tell the others when they wake...”

Sheppard shook his head once. “You're staying here.”

“And what am I meant to do while everyone else is on the planet?” Michael tipped his head to the side, genuinely curious. He had been given plenty of opportunity to think about what their reasons had been for bringing him on this journey, and only two had come to mind; he was their backup pilot, or he was their backup plan if the transformed Wraith began to fight back. The possibility that he was both had also not escaped him.

“If you think you can help with repairs, that's fine, otherwise you're just going to hang tight up here with the skeleton crew while we do what we need to on the surface,” Sheppard told him. “But that's not why I called you out here...”

Michael's lips curled slightly as he realized the necessary question was now going to be asked. The humans, of course, had no way to provide for all of his needs without some sort of sacrifice and they had no idea how to broach the subject. He decided he would help them. “You want me to have my fill of the prisoners before you transport them to your camp.”

Sheppard looked stunned. “Well... Yeah, actually.” His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to work out how Michael had come to this conclusion, but after a moment the look was gone. 

A thoughtful hum escaped Michael before he could contain it. “While I appreciate your concern for my survival, I could not bring myself to feed on one of my own, any more than you could.”

“Well, they're human now,” the man tried to remind him, as if he could have forgotten how the retrovirus changed the Wraith.

“And what am I, Colonel? What, exactly, did you turn _me_ into?” He held up his hand for examination. “Yes, I can feed again, but among the Wraith I am an abomination, and to be human, this...” Michael moved his hand slightly and the human backed away. It was a retreat of instinct alone, but a retreat none the less, one that made Michael sigh and drop his arm as he finished his halted sentence. “...must be erased.” He tipped his head down the corridor, to where the Transformed were being held in stasis. “Those you call humans are just the same. They may have been transformed on the outside, but I know who they really are.”

Sheppard stood, eyes widening, not only from surprise, but also from what Michael assumed to be a kind of admiration. After a moment of thought, he shrugged. “So how are we going to...”

“Feed me?” Michael finished for him, unashamed of what his needs were. He sighed, “I would tell you that I had given it thought, but I expect you to assume I meant I was deciding which of you to cull from the rest.”

“Yeah, maybe not the best thing to say around some us right now...” Sheppard stared forwards, his eyes distant with thought. “I guess we could make sure you come along on hostile missions...”

Michael nodded, he had thought of something similar himself, though there was certainly a flaw in the plan. “And if the hostiles are an inadequate source of nourishment?”

“Yeah... I hadn't really gotten that far.”

Michael nodded. “Then how do we proceed?” From what little he knew of the retrovirus, he could assume there was a possibility to alter its affects so that his digestion would be shifted to allow for a more human consumption of nutrients. He had not yet informed the others, of course. Michael thought it best not to bombard the Atlanteans all at once with more than they could handle. At the moment they were barely comfortable with his presence, should they discover too soon that his scientific knowledge far exceeded most of their own, he would most certainly lose all of the ground he had gained towards a peaceful coexistence. 

The colonel looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time in their conversation. “How many more days do you have before you'll need something?”

“I can survive for some time,” Michael assured him. He tilted his head in thought, debating the need to tell the entire truth of it. If the humans knew just how long he _could_ survive, he was certain they would not only use that time frame to their advantage, but that they would also begin to show unease around him once the announced time had come near. 

“That's not really-”

“I know that you want an exact answer, Colonel,” Michael cut in quickly. “However if I were to tell you, I would need some assurances.”

Sheppard frowned. “Such as?”

Michael chose to answer the question with an example. “Should I choose to reveal to you a week when I should feed, how do you think the others would begin to feel once that time grew near? Would I be trusted? And could I trust you to allow me what I required, or should I expect to be pushed to the point of starvation before a solution was found?”

“I see your point.” Sheppard sighed and walked up the corridor for a few steps, then turned and came back. “All right. I'm gonna choose to trust you. If you say you're not hungry right now, then we'll let it slide, but when the time _does_ come, I expect a little warning.”

Michael lowered his head in a single, respectful nod. After a moment Sheppard waved him back into the control room and he turned on his heel, happy to return to his quiet vigil.


	5. Chapter 5

Guiding the wraith ship through the void of space was much more difficult than Teyla had anticipated. Her body was tight with the strain, not brought on by physical exertion, but from the strict mental focus that pulled the muscles in her neck and tugged at the top of her spine. Her mind seemed to have expanded through the computer's interface and though she had no new knowledge, she felt as if somehow she should. She could barely make out the words being spoken around her, but refused to let them inside her thoughts, for fear any distraction would put her off from the task at hand.

Michael had been right, she realized absently, causing the ship to slow and shift.

“Woah!” The shout came from somewhere ahead of her and sounded like McKay.

Teyla took in a deep breath and refocused with a casual, “Apologies...” before turning her attention to the navigation with renewed determination. 

Suddenly, she could sense the presence of a Wraith's thoughts. Michael. His mind nudged at hers, not to invade, but to inspect. She felt like a sample in one of Carson's lab dishes, being examined under extreme magnification. The moment existed and then was gone in an instant, as if she had simply blinked it away. The intrusion left a clarity to her thoughts that helped to set her back on task and without too much difficulty Teyla approached the planet and settled the ship into orbit. “It is done,” she told the others as she opened her eyes, though she sought Michael alone to give him the most subtle of nods in thanks.

Michael's head lowered, but he said nothing.

“Great,” Sheppard answered. “Time to go set up camp.” He began the process of assigning tasks to anyone who was not already following their predetermined orders, but Teyla did her best to ignore the commotion as she gripped the console to steady herself.

A warm hand landed gently over hers. “You all right?” The rumble of Ronon's voice was a welcome comfort, but she knew he had obligations of his own.

“I will be fine,” she reassured him. “Assist Colonel Sheppard with the camp, I will find somewhere to rest.”

The Satedan remained where he was, hovering at her side, his gaze fixed on where Michael stood across the room, watching them with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure?”

Teyla smiled. “He will not harm me, Ronon. The guards assigned to him will make certain of that, and if you doubt them, you have my word that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Doesn't mean I trust him,” the man grunted back, though he reluctantly went off to help the others.

With a sigh, Teyla rotated her head in hopes of loosening the muscles in her neck and shoulders, then took a step forward only to realize that her knees were stiff from standing motionless for the duration of the flight. Michael's eyes followed her as she walked in a circle around the console, but he was otherwise as still as if he had been carved in stone. He seemed lost and she supposed she couldn't blame him.

Once the room had cleared of all but McKay and Michael's guards, he approached, closing the distance between them with graceful strides. “There is a room down the corridor where you could be more comfortable.” His words were quiet, meant for her alone.

“I should remain here, in case I am needed,” she said with less conviction than she wanted to have.

“And should they need you, you will be nearby,” he insisted. 

Teyla caught his eyes reading the various displays around the room, collecting whatever information they showed. He gave a nod of approval as he turned back to her, seemingly satisfied with the status of the ship. “All right,” she said at last. “Lead the way.”

Michael tilted his head and turned sharply to the exit behind them, marching himself past the guards without hesitation, obviously trusting that Teyla would follow. The men looked at her in query and she raised an arm, allowing them to precede her, then followed behind.

After two turns the group reached a large open space with windows along one wall and a table in the center. Teyla would not have called it a room as much as an extension of the corridor they had just come from, but it was out of the way and there was a ledge under the windows that could serve as a bench. She walked to the star field and gazed out into the darkness, searching for the planet that was hidden beyond her line of sight.

“We are facing away from the planet,” Michael told her, taking two steps in her direction before the shuffling of guns halted his movements. “It will be quieter on this side of the ship.”

Teyla nodded, grateful for his consideration. “Thank you.”

“There are few places onboard that would provide you with the amount of comfort better suited to your needs-”

Teyla turned to him. “This is suitable,” she insisted, her voice sounding strained. “I will be fine.”

Despite the unease of the guards, Michael took another step closer. “Those words may comfort the other Humans, but I am in the unique position to know the truth. They do not know what strength is required to fly a ship of this size, nor do they understand how much effort _you_ must put in to work the controls.” The words weren't an accusation, but he was clearly “calling her bluff” as Sheppard would say.

Almost instantly Teyla's shoulders sagged and she released a breath that she was unaware of holding. Every muscle in her body felt as though it would turn to fluid around her as the exhaustion she was fighting began to take hold. She turned from the window and sat on the ledge, testing it's merit as a makeshift cot. “I am sorry,” she said at last. “The events of the last few days...” Her words trailed off as she looked up to meet his gaze, finding the concern that filled his eyes to be almost overwhelming. Swallowing her unease, she promised, “I will rest.”

Michael nodded and turned to the doorway. “The mechanism is here,” he told her, placing his hand on a specific location that dropped a wall into place almost instantaneously. The effect was surreal and unnerving, but reassuring as well. He touched the panel again and the door opened, then he made his way into the corridor.

Teyla assumed he would leave, but the Wraith hovered in the entry. Feeling as if he were expecting something from her, she told him, “Open will be fine. Thank you. I do not wish to keep you from whatever task you were given for our arrival.”

Michael scoffed, tipping his head back in frustration. “Do you truly believe they would trust me with any part of their plans? I am here because my presence activates more of the ships systems than they can manipulate on their own.” He placed a hand to his chest. “I am a component, a useful part of the machinery around us, nothing more.”

While she hadn't expected him to be trusted with everything, she had been certain that someone would have asked him to help in some way. The fact that they did not made Teyla sit straighter with frustration. “It is true that I expected the others to be cautions,” she said, “but to ignore your ability to assist us...” Her voice trailed off as she desperately reached for kinder words than would come to her tongue, but could hold on to none of them. “Michael, I am sorry.”

He sighed and looked around the room again, perhaps experiencing a memory. “You are not the one responsible for an apology,” he told her at last. “But I accept it.”

“I have often wondered about your life before we captured you...” Teyla almost stumbled over the word “captured,” debating its use only to concede in the end. He was, after all, taken against his will. “What was your position before the injections? Did you have a family?”

“Wraith do not have 'families,'” Michael corrected her in a harsh tone before his breath caught and he looked to the center table. She could see a wave of emotion flood his eyes. “The past hardly matters now,” he added suddenly, each word filled so deeply with his pain that they might as well have been blows to her chest.

“I think it does,” she said, trying not to let his emotion get to her. “If we are going to find you a place among us-”

Michael turned to her, his expression cold and filled with anger. “I may be living on Atlantis, but I will never be _among_ you.” He emphasized the word with a curl of his lip, flashing more of his teeth.

Teyla shook her head. “You do not know that for certain.”

“Believe what you will,” he retorted before turning for the exit. At the threshold he paused only long enough to speak over his shoulder. “Rest well, Teyla.”

She watched him stride down the corridor until he was no longer visible, then turned her head to gaze out at the distant stars. If Michael was going to continue to live on Atlantis, she knew they would need to find a balance of trust. She also knew it would not be an easy thing to accomplish. 

* *

Michael strode past the guards with forced determination, backtracking his path to the first turn, then following a new corridor that would take him to the room that mirrored where he had left Teyla. On the opposite side of the ship there was more commotion, though it was faint now that most of the others had made their way to the bay. Still, there were shouts now and then and the crackle of communications seemed overwhelming as one team asked another for items or whereabouts or progress reports. He was glad that Teyla was somewhere calmer.

Behind him, the guards shuffled into place, their gear making various clicks and scrapes as they took a stance of attention. He didn't need to see them do this, he had become so used to their presence that the image was as true and clear to him as the planet below. Here they would remain, never moving, never speaking, his constant shadows until replacements came and they were allowed rest. Michael found himself almost admiring their dedication to their orders.

“I need that medical tent. Anyone got it?” The call came out on a general frequency from one of the items carried by the guards, hitting the ears of those least likely to respond. Michael could have helped. It would have been the Human thing to do. That he knew from his first stay in the city. As a Jumper drifted away toward the planet below, he imagined the inside packed with people and equipment and pondered making himself useful, but what would his presence do? The Humans were so uncertain of what to think of him that they would check and double check every item he touched for signs of sabotage. If not sabotage, then he would be accused of trying to escape. No, watching from a distance was all that was possible.

_Is this to be my life now?_ The thought wandered through his mind, not for the first time. _Will I forever stand in the shadows, useless?_ The final word brought a hiss to the deepest part of his throat, where it warbled in a guttural noise that mimicked the sound of death. In his frustration he wanted nothing more than to lash out, throw a fist to the table or turn on the guards, but he restrained himself, forcing a calm to surge through his body and negate the anger.

Useless to the humans. Filth to the wraith. If he was meant to be nothing, perhaps it _would_ have been better to have chosen death. The Satedan could easily be angered into firing a kill shot...

No. Michael had lived this long because he had fought to survive and he fought to survive because he _wanted_ to live. He had always been strong. This new identity that had claimed him did not make him less of what he was, as the Wriath believed, it had made him _more_ than he had ever been.

“Carson to Edric. Are you still with Michael?” The voice cut in to his thoughts and he was unable to resist the urge to turn and face the guards.

One of them reached up to their shoulder and spoke. “Yes, sir.”

“Great,” the Doctor said with such relief that it was almost visible in the air. “Can you bring him down here, please.”

The guard hesitated and glanced at the man beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“Sheppard told us not to let him near anything,” the other whispered at him.

“Yeah, but... It's the Doc, right?”

Michael watched the two stare at each other for another moment, then shrug. A breath later, the device clicked on. “We'll be right there,” Edric said, his head tilted to the side in a way that suggested he really didn't have a choice in the matter. The man stepped aside and waved his weapon to indicate Michael should move along. “You heard him,” he said cheerfully. “I guess we're going on a field trip.”

* *

Carson stood in the massive chamber, gazing out into the seemingly infinite number of stasis pods. Of course he knew exactly how many were being used, but shrinking the number of chambers down to nearly 200 didn't make his task any easier. His eyes drifted from the console to the vastness in front of him and then back again as his heart sank further into his chest, feeling the impossibility soak in.

“You wanted to see me?” The voice behind him was Michael's and Carson couldn't help but smile with relief.

“Aye,” he answered, turning to face the Wraith. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

A brightness touched Michael's eyes and was gone a moment later, but it had been there. The poor man was probably desperate for something to do, yet he stood patiently and waited for an explanation.

“We don't have enough room to transport everyone in one go,” Carson said simply. “I'm trying to determine the order in which I should wake them-”

“You need to know the best way to keep your deception intact,” Michael interrupted, his head swinging slowly from one side to the other as he took in occupied chambers.

Carson nodded briskly. “Basically, yes.”

“The drones should be the last,” Michael said without hesitation. “Their minds are weak and they will have no use of spoken language.”

“Then shouldn't they go first, as a test?” Carson blinked up at Michael in surprise.

Michael stepped away and spoke out into the void. He reminded Carson of any number of college professors from his past who had the habit of pacing while teaching. “I assume you are going to tell these prisoners that they are waking from their illness... perhaps some virus has found its way into their system that affects their minds and memories? A fever has left them in a coma?” He turned to face Becket again, head tilted in query.

Carson could feel his mouth begin to drop open, but stopped himself. “I had thought of such a scenario...” He moved to join Michael, trying to see what the Wraith saw, though he doubted that would ever be possible.

“Then you will wake the strongest first.” It was not a command or an order, simply a statement of fact. “Those who had been soldiers will be strong and learn quickly. Teaching _them_ to administer the injections should be a simple task and they will see the others being brought in from outside of the camp.”

“The drones...”

Michael nodded once. “They will appear more feeble, weaker, more susceptible to the strain. And when they... awaken... you can explain their muteness and lack of intelligence as an effect from the disease. They will be proof that those who do not recover in time lose some capacity to function.” He paused to look at Carson again. “I assume you have devised an explanation for all of the women to be missing?”

He hadn't, actually. Carson shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then that is your reason.” The Wraith walked back to the console and reached a hand to touch the panel, only to have the guards aim their weapons at him.

“Sheppard said no interaction with the ship,” Faron announced as he eyed Michael with a cold stare.

Carson sighed with exasperation, “He's helping me with the prisoners, for God's sake, not trying to blow up the ship.” He stood watching Faron and Edirc, eyes drifting from one to the other and back again until they reluctantly lowered their weapons. Once their minds seemed somewhat eased, he returned his attention to Michael. “Go on.”

The Wraith tapped a few commands and looked at the display. “From what I know of those that were captured, these...” he said, indicating a cluster of lights on the console with a hand that hovered just above, but refused to touch the membrane, “and these... should be your first choices. If they are who they seem to be. The others should follow, before you remove the drones.”

“If?” Carson looked over at Michael with uncertainty.

One of Michael's hands left his side, raising slightly to indicate his guards. “Would you recognize these men if I had turned them into Wraith? Could you distinguish their lifesigns or images easily among two hundred?”

A chuckle escaped Carson before he realized. “No, I suppose not.”

Michael tipped his head, then pressed several other indicators, making a large cluster of the lights representing the chambers turn to a duller shade. “These are the drones.” His words held no doubt. “They would be recognizable in _any_ form.”

Carson nodded slowly. As he studied the assortment of readings in front of him, his mind played back the conversation they had just had. Michael's choice of words and his familiarity with the progression of disease suddenly had Carson's mind turning in circles. It all seemed so simple, so familiar. He might as well have been working with another physician. 

Did Wraith have working positions on their ships just as humans did? Carson had often wondered, and had even asked this question once before, but hadn't been granted an answer at the time. Deciding to take another crack at it, he turned to Michael with a smile of gratitude. “I really appreciate this,” he said causally, letting the sentence drift off before adding, “No one else seemed to understand the workings of this situation... have you... had a background in science... or medicine?” The final words were a whisper, a secret between just the two of them.

Michael's mouth cracked open, lips exposing teeth as if he were meaning to hiss, but no sound came. Instead, he tipped back his head and glared down his nose at Carson. “Should you need further assistance, you know how to find me.” 

The announcement was loud enough to reach the guards, who stepped aside and motioned for Michael to exit first. The Wraith turned without another word and disappeared to wherever it was he had been keeping himself.

_Damn,_ thought Carson as he watched their backs recede into the distance. _He almost admitted it._


	6. Chapter 6

Ronon ducked out of the puddle jumper and looked around at the quickly growing camp. He had to hand it to Sheppard's people, they certainly knew how to work together for a common goal. While there were still piles of supplies waiting to be moved, the tents were going up at such a rapid pace that the location was hardly recognizable from his last trip down. Of course, this meant he was immediately put to work.

“Ronon, could you take this for me?”

“Can you hold up that side of the tent for a second?”

“Those supplies are ready to go in, if you can take them.”

“Ronon? Could you help me throw down these cots?”

“Would you mind taking this equipment in the med tent?”

After an hour's worth of helping with distribution and assembly, it was really beginning to grate on him that he hadn't been asked the one question that would have prevented all of this nonsense in the first place: “Ronon, would you help us kill the prisoners?”

Finding a moment to slip away, he dropped onto a nearby rock and tucked his arms tightly against his chest to fend off the planet's cooler evening temperatures. He could feel himself beginning to lose the battle with his memories, the hardest of them drifting up to the surface after being held down for so long. The others knew he had been hunted, but he hadn't spoken of the real battle, the battle for freedom, the battle for his homeworld, his last day with Melena.

He sighed at the thought of her, not even having to wonder what she would think of all of this. She would be on Becket's side, trying to save the “Humans” from being infected with their old Wraith genes. Why did everyone treat the Wraith as if they had been made sick by some kind of infection? Why couldn't they grasp the idea that the chance to save the human side from their inevitable mutation had passed long ago?

Ronon watched as teams of men and women wandered about the camp, making all of the last minute arrangements for the new population to be comfortable. None of these people knew what the Wraith were _truly_ capable of. Sheppard and the others treated the Wraith like animals, capable of being tamed, ignoring the fact that the Wraith were just like any other sentient population of the universe. Keeping them here was simply asking for the worst kind of trouble. This Ronon knew. He only wished someone else would listen to him.

After a few minutes of reflection, Ronon heard someone approach through the edge of the trees. He didn't need to turn to see who was joining him. The pace and weight of the steps were all too familiar.

“I still say this is a terrible idea,” he grumped without turning to face the man. His eyes couldn't break their vigil over the new battleground that was rising up around them. Ronon may have been the only one who was expecting it, but a battle would surely come. And he would be ready.

Sheppard sighed beside him. “I know. And so does everyone else here, actually, since you keep saying it all the time.”

Ignoring the Colonel's attempt at humor, Ronon finally turned to face him. “Do you really believe this plan is going to work? If _we_ were the ones being held here, would _you_ just accept what you were told without question?”

“Probably not,” John admitted. “But that's not what's happening here. _They_ actually _have_ amnesia.”

Ronon shook his head. “Only because we're forcing it on them, using a drug that we know doesn't work.” He emphasized the last two words individually to try and drive his point home, though he knew they would fall on deaf ears.

“We _worry _it might not work. There's a difference.” Sheppard didn't look at all confident in the truth of what he was saying.__

__“All the evidence we need to prove it _won't_ work is up there on that ship.” Ronon's eyes darted skyward as if he could see the Hive ship and Michael standing inside it, leering down at them, the Wraith's next scheme burning through his gaze like an energy weapon._ _

__“Carson is certain that the changes he made to this formula will fix the problem. And if _he_ says it's worth a shot, then I'm willing to give it a chance,” Sheppard told him._ _

__“Really?” Ronon raised an eyebrow and tilted his head with suspicion. “Or are you doing this because you feel guilty about creating these prisoners in the first place?”_ _

__“Michael was a choice, yes,” Sheppard said with frustration, “but these others are victims of circumstance, created so that we could survive. They're human now. They became human to save _our_ lives. You were there, Ronon. _You_ were one of the ones they saved. These people deserve a chance and Carson deserves the opportunity to test his 'cure.'”_ _

__“They're _not_ human.” Ronon stepped closer, meeting the Colonel's eyes with an icy stare of rage. An imagined flash of light filled his vision, consuming the memory of Melena as he instantly relived the blast of fire that killed her. “We are at _war_ ,” he told him. “People die in battles all the time.”_ _

__* *_ _

__“How are we doing on repairs?” Rodney's call bounced off the membrane of the console he was working on and hit his ears like a shout bouncing off a soundproofed wall. He was certain he would never get used to the sensation, just as he wouldn't ever get used to the slimy coating that moisturized the controls, but wouldn't come off on his hands._ _

__“Still no good,” someone announced behind him. “The power just isn't getting to the weapons.”_ _

__“If the ship is like a living entity, should we ask someone on the medical team to have a look?” This question came from another of the engineers, one that Rodney couldn't put a name to. Not really surprising, of course. He couldn't put a name to most of the people under his command. Their skills were the important part, after all, and he was beginning to question why this guy was part of the team._ _

__Rodney rolled his eyes. “First day on the job?”_ _

__The man shook his head. “First day on a Hive ship, sir.”_ _

__“Of course it is,” Rodney muttered. “So why don't you go to Doctor Becket and explain to him that you need some of his medical staff to come put a bandage on the power conduits and apply pressure to stop the bleeding?”_ _

__The man stumbled over his words to try and come up with another solution. “Well... I didn't mean-”_ _

__“What if we got that Wraith to help us?” Another of the crew piped up. Smith was his name. Or was it Jones?_ _

__Rodney nearly dropped the tablet he was holding. “Oh, no, no, no, no. Michael isn't allowed to go anywhere _near_ the controls of this ship.”_ _

__“What if he just stood here and _told _us what to do?” The question from Smith Jones got Rodney's head buzzing with thought.___ _

____“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose if he is just standing around somewhere under guard, he might as well stand around in here and give us a few pointers...” He turned and snapped his fingers at one of the men as he walked in to the control area. “You... Whatever your name is... Go tell the guards to bring Michael.”_ _ _ _

____With a nod and a scramble, the man was gone, replaced moments later with a larger, more menacing figure whose voice rasped out, “You wanted to see me...”_ _ _ _

____Rodney almost jumped at the sight of the Wraith. He hadn't expected a near instant response. “That was fast.”_ _ _ _

____“I made certain to remain nearby in case my services were required,” Michael told him. He tilted his head forward slightly and he added in a knowing tone, “Other than my presence activating the ship’s systems, of course.”_ _ _ _

____“Right...” Rodney tried to force a smile at the Wraith, but couldn't quite manage it. Was there anything this guy didn't figure out? Then again, that one was probably fairly obvious. “Well, that has been useful, so... Uh... Thanks?”_ _ _ _

____Michael let out a sound that was something between a huff and a hiss, then looked around the room. He offered no other response and seemed uninterested in engaging in any type of conversation. He clearly had no idea why he had been summoned, yet felt no need to inquire._ _ _ _

_____Of course he wouldn't,_ Thought Rodney. _Why would he? We aren't exactly bosom buddies._ “We uh... have been trying to get the weapons activated and were wondering if you had any ideas?” He heard his voice almost crack and swallowed again to keep back his fear._ _ _ _

____“The exterior of the ship is regenerating,” Michael told them. “That regeneration takes power from other systems.”_ _ _ _

____The nameless fellow shrugged. “Is there any way to tell the ship where to regenerate next?”_ _ _ _

____“Without the proper tools and medications, could Doctor Becket force a wound on your arm to heal faster than one on your side?” The corners of Michael's mouth twitched upward ever so slightly as he spoke, making Rodney wonder if he found their ineptitude amusing._ _ _ _

____“Right, well, we've searched for the proper tools and all the spare parts were either destroyed or damaged beyond repair,” he countered, holding up the data as if Michael could see it from across the room, with just a distant glimpse at the information. “We were hoping you'd be able to... give us some pointers?”_ _ _ _

____Michael let out a sigh and shifted his weight ever so slightly as his head tilted sideways. “You believe that because I am a Wraith and this is a Hive ship, I should know everything about the mechanical design?”_ _ _ _

____Rodney shrugged. “Well, we _hoped_ you knew something more than we do... yeah.”_ _ _ _

____“Not every member of a species can repair the technology they possess,” Michael told him, his tone dripping with condescension. Or maybe it was sarcasm. It was hard to tell with Wraith. “I was under the impression that you were the top of your field. What is stopping you from improvising replacements from what you already have?”_ _ _ _

____“Did you miss the part where I said all the spare parts were damaged or destroyed?”_ _ _ _

____Michael stepped toward the console where Nameless and Smith Jones had been working. The two instinctively stepped aside to grant him access, but the Wraith made no move to interact with the ship. Instead he stood and inspected the display, the tilt of his head changing direction as he took in the information that was visible on the screen. “The hull and damaged structure will repair itself over time. Once that is done, it should be easier for you to divert power where you need it.”_ _ _ _

____Rodney blinked. “That's it?”_ _ _ _

____Michael opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a rather flustered Carson, who made his way into the room and beamed at the sight of the Wraith in front of him. “Michael. Good. I found you. I need your help...”_ _ _ _

____* *_ _ _ _

____Michael had never been so pleased to see the Doctor in all of his days. Relief flooded over him like a surge of power through the very conduits the engineers were attempting to repair as he turned from the others to face Becket. The Talking One was beginning to talk his way directly into Michael's temper and this man would be his rescue._ _ _ _

____“Wait a minute!” The engineer complained. “He's helping _us_!”_ _ _ _

____Thankfully, the Doctor stood his ground. “We're about to wake the prisoners. Since we are following Michael's plan, I thought it was only fair to see if he wanted to see it through and I need someone knowledgeable to deactivate the appropriate chambers and monitor the people who remain onboard between transports.”_ _ _ _

____“Don't you have your own people for that?”_ _ _ _

____Becket folded his arms over his chest and nodded to the others in the room. “Don't you?”_ _ _ _

____Michael resisted the urge to chuckle at the Doctor's quick response, though an entertained huff did escape him. He had to be careful not to give his eagerness away. Too much enthusiasm to work beside the Doctor and his capabilities might be suspected. The humans were already nervous about having him sharing space beside them, if they knew what he was truly capable of, none of them would allow him to stay. “There is nothing more I can do here,” he admitted, then turned to the Talking One and nodded politely. “I have faith that you will restore power to the weapons, given time.”_ _ _ _

____The man sputtered. “What happened to ' Not every member of a species can work with the technology they possess?'”_ _ _ _

____Knowing it would make the engineer uncomfortable, Michael took two purposeful steps forward. “The Doctor is not asking me to make repairs or explain how they should be done, he is asking me to observe.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes... Right... Well....” The constantly chattering human stepped backward until he bumped into the console behind him and realized he had nowhere else to go. With a grudging smile, he waved his hand at the exit. “I'll just work the same magic I always manage to pull out of my-”_ _ _ _

____“Don't worry, Rodney,” Becket cut in, “I'll have him back to you as soon as I can.”_ _ _ _

____At this announcement, Michael was waved off a second time, the engineer turning his back to them with an unintelligible muttering that was probably not polite. It was an obvious attempt to look busier than he was, and it was welcome._ _ _ _

____With this dismissal, Michael turned to join the Doctor, walking purposefully beside him. Within three steps down the corridor, he could hear the rattle and click of the military men that followed him everywhere. He was grateful for the distance they gave, but he would be even more grateful when he could move about freely, without these noisy shadows clinging to his heels. If he was going to rid himself of his guard, Michael needed a way to be trusted and the Doctor was going to be the means to that end._ _ _ _

____“I'm sorry to take you away like this...” The Doctor's words trailed off, the truth of them in what wasn't being spoken. The man wasn't sorry at all._ _ _ _

____“On the contrary, Doctor. I am more than happy to assist you,” Michael replied._ _ _ _

____“Aye,” he said. “I thought you might be. Rodney can be a bit... overwhelming.”_ _ _ _

____Michael thought about the man they had left behind. “He is someone who covers their insecurities with constant speech,” he determined. “I have no doubt that if he were presented with a task that he was unable to complete, he would discuss his plan to the very core idea and back again in order to prove he was worthy of the responsibility, rather than admit his defeat outright.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, that's Rodney on the nose,” the Doctor chuckled. He walked on in silence for another moment before glancing over to Michael in a way that was probably meant to go unnoticed. “Besides... this... seems more your field than engineering... If you don't mind my saying it.”_ _ _ _

____So there it was. Someone had realized his true background, or at least had some idea of what that background could be. Michael had expected it would happen, but was not expecting it to be so soon. In his experience, humans tended to see the Wraith as the insect gene, putting them in the role of trained animals or primitive hunters, never giving them a culture or background other than their quest for food. It was surprising that someone would actively try to pinpoint such a specifically cultural aspect of his Wraith background, rather than stumble upon it accidentally._ _ _ _

____Michael stopped walking and regarded the man beside him. In truth, he was not at all surprised that the kindhearted Doctor, with his weakness for the individual, would be the one to come to the conclusion that there might have been something more to Michael's previous life than culling random civilizations. The only other Atlantean with the capacity to comprehend his prior life would be Teyla._ _ _ _

____“There was nothing I could do for the others,” Michael explained at last, again choosing his words carefully so as to seem uninterested in any task put to him beyond the value of being kept busy. “The biological component of a Hive makes manipulation of the ship's systems extremely difficult. It is best to let the ship recover on its own until power has stabilized.”_ _ _ _

____“Makes sense, I suppose,” the Doctor said with a shrug and a gesture for Michael to enter the stasis area first. Michael walked through the entrance, but could hear voices behind him in whispered discussion. “You boys can stay here.”_ _ _ _

____“But our orders-”_ _ _ _

____“Where's he going to go, exactly? There's one entrance from this level and you're guarding it.”_ _ _ _

____Michael moved to the console, ignoring the rest of the argument. It was the same discussion that he would hear after every changing of his guard. Each team would be told not to trust him, each would follow their orders to the letter, because that was most certainly why they had been chosen._ _ _ _

____After another minute, the Doctor sighed beside him. “Sorry about that.”_ _ _ _

____“I betrayed all of you,” Michael reminded him. “I must expect distrust from anyone who will be spending time with me.”_ _ _ _

____“You were tricked by your Queen, more like,” Becket answered back, sharply._ _ _ _

____Michael looked up at him and nodded his gratitude once. “Colonel Sheppard can not be expected to see it that way.”_ _ _ _

____There seemed to be more words stirring themselves around in the Doctor's mind, but he couldn't seem to put them into order and instead shook his head and indicated the work ahead of them. “So, if we're ready for the first batch, I think we should begin...”_ _ _ _

____* *_ _ _ _

____The fog of sleep lifted so slowly that he felt rather than experienced the world as he woke. There was pressure on his back and open air at his front. He seemed prone, on something soft. The scent of forest came to him next, and with it a soft clattering sound that drifted in with the breeze. He wanted to open his eyes to examine his surroundings, but thinking of his desires and following through with them were two separate things. Movement felt impossible. Each part of him was a weight that could not be moved._ _ _ _

____“Lathan?”_ _ _ _

____The word was clear, but he could not make out where it was coming from, or if the call was meant for him. He tried again to open his eyes, push himself to a sitting position, but managed only to press the palm of one hand into the softness beneath him._ _ _ _

____“It's all right, Lathan,” said the same voice. “You'll be right as rain in only a little while. Just try to relax and let your body finish recovering, then we'll explain everything...”_ _ _ _


End file.
